


Bindings

by ariadnes_string



Series: Far From the Rhodope Mountains [3]
Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Collection: Purimgifts Day 3, Jewish Character, M/M, Magic, Rape/Non-con Elements, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-02
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-03-16 00:33:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 914
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3467777
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadnes_string/pseuds/ariadnes_string
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"This is what you would call a Bulgarian mobster Jersey trash dream forest.”</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bindings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [darkrosaleen](https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkrosaleen/gifts).



> Chag Purim, darkrosaleen! 
> 
> Many thanks to isis for the beta!

“This isn’t Cabeswater,” Lynch said.

“Cabe-what?” said Kavinsky. “No, this isn’t cunt-what-the-fuck-ever. This is _my_ secret place. This is what you would call a Bulgarian mobster Jersey trash dream forest.”

He turned in a circle, arms spread expansively, showing it off. The trees were looking a little gray, the letter-creatures peering out from behind them a little spindly, but they were all _his_.

Lynch sneered, in the way that only he could. Kavinsky almost stumbled. He was so high, had been so high for so long, that even in the dream, his body was clumsy, almost spent. He grabbed Lynch’s shoulder—as much to steady himself as to make a point, but the contact gave him strength. Even when Lynch tried to shrug his shoulder out of Kavinsky's grasp, he held on, pulling himself closer so he could get right up in Lynch's face.

“Whaddaya say, Lynch, ready to stop dicking around?" He gave the words as much bite as he could, almost spitting. "And I mean that literally: ready to stop fucking around with Dick?”

Kavinsky pushed Lynch back against one of the trees as he said it. Lynch kept the sneer on his face, but didn’t offer much resistance after that initial convulsive jerk. Kavinsky could tell he wanted to give in, could tell by the way Lynch's breathing quickened and a fine dark blush started to suffuse his face. It made Kavinsky's own heartbeat speed up, being so close to Lynch's confusion and excitement. He didn't get it: how could a guy who prided himself on telling the truth, on not being scared of anything, be so uptight about liking dick, about liking Dick? _Fucking Catholics_ , his mother would’ve said.

Lynch had run out of space to back up now, and Kavinsky leaned into him, savoring a kiss made so much sweeter by Lynch’s shame.

For one, long, glorious moment, Lynch let it happen. Kavinsky could feel the wild dreaming, the thing they shared, gathering force between them. They were two bodies with one dreaming mind; or maybe one body with two dreams. Either way, they might burn down the forest.

But then, as Kavinsky had known he would, Lynch began to struggle. He wrenched his mouth away, and shoved hard against Kavinsky’s shoulders. It was, in its way, as exciting as the kiss. Lynch could fight like a motherfucker, Kavinsky knew, could easily kick his ass in the waking world.

But this wasn’t the waking world. 

“Oh, no, no, no,” Kavinsky murmured. “Didn’t you hear me? I said this place was _mine_.”

With a thought, he pulled the letter-creatures from their hiding places. With another, he shaped them into vines. With a third, he sent the vines lashing around Lynch’s arms, his ankles, his thighs. The letters, the trees, the very air of the forest, protested the _wrongness_ of his commands. But he'd perfected his control long ago--they did his bidding now. Lynch kicked out, twisted his body to evade the vines. It didn’t matter. He was fast and strong, but no match for Kavinsky's dreams. The more he fought back, the tighter the bindings became. Kavinsky could see red welts forming over the scars on Ronan's wrists. In a moment, he thought, he would put his lips to them, sucking, biting.

Kavinsky leaned in again, this time with his whole body. Fighting the forest’s resistance as well as Lynch’s made him as hard as he’d ever been. He held the vines and trees captive with his mind while he ground himself against Lynch’s captive body. They were of the same height, not an ounce of body fat to spare between them, and their hipbones knocked together as he moved, small, thrilling bursts of pain.

For a while, Lynch held his gaze. “This the only way you can get it, Kavinsky? No one’ll touch you unless you tie them down?” he hissed.

But Kavinsky clapped a hand over that beautiful, cruel mouth, turning Lynch’s face away from him, pressing his head against the tree bark, and exposing the white lines of his throat. The vulnerability of the posture made Kavinsky gasp with desire, and he lowered his mouth to the rapid pulse in Ronan's throat, tasting his sweat. Kavinsky's thrusts came faster now, his erection straining against his cargoes. With a thought, he wished their clothes away.

But when his muscle-t disappeared, Kavinsky found himself staring at the now-revealed lines of Lynch’s tattoo, elaborate, stylized flowers curling down his neck, inky vines mirroring the green ones lashed around his limbs. Without meaning to, Kavinsky found himself following its path as it disappeared behind Lynch's shoulder, and then further still, imagining it spreading down his back, expanding into another forest, as dangerous as his own. In his mind's eye, he saw dark hedges and gnarled oaks come to life, crowding around him like living souls. _Your bindings cannot hold here_ , they seemed to whisper. _We are already bound to another_. Ravens cawed from every branch, then rushed him in a ferocious flurry of wings.

Kavinsky’s control broke only for a moment, but that was enough. As quickly as they had formed, his vine-ropes dissolved, the letter-creatures scattering into the leaves.

Released, Lynch stood upright and stepped away from the tree. He was naked now, but unashamed. He laughed. "Fuck you, asshole," he said. "I’m waking up.”

And he was gone.

Standing in his ruined forest, Joseph Kavinsky vowed to recapture Ronan Lynch, if was the last thing he ever did.

**Author's Note:**

> Image of Ireland's Dark Hedges from [this list of the 16 of the world's most beautiful trees](http://www.boredpanda.com/most-beautiful-trees/)
> 
> Ronan calls Kavinsky "a Bulgarian mobster Jersey trash piece of shit" in chapter 34 of _The Dream Thieves_.


End file.
